Page 101 of The Truth About You and Me
I’ve replayed that final night over and over again. Tried to turn back time so I take her home instead of letting Charl convince us to stay. Said things differently when she told me it was over. I can’t turn back the past, but maybe I can still change the future. Make her see that if I can do this, then maybe there will still be a chance for us. And maybe I can helpher, just as she has helped me.
I pile the envelopes up on the wooden counter that stretches along the wall facing the window and head into the back room. It’s small, a nook really. I had wanted this to be a reading room.
The polythene covering easily rips off two reading chairs, which I’d picked out last week, and I bend down. I know the tub of paint is ‘Whisky-White’. I wipe my finger across the small rectangle on the front of the tin, slow my breathing and look for the ‘W’. It takes me a few minutes, but I can start to see the letter form, smell clementine and cloves.
I take off my jacket and head into the storeroom. There are at least twenty boxes towering inside; each one I know is filled with classics. It was my first order, the books that most people wish they’d read. I lift one down, tear away the tape, and open it after several goes with a knife. I will never understand why book deliveries are always so hard to open. I shake my head, reach in and pull out the first book. I know it’sDraculaby the picture on the front, but the symbols are dancing again. I hold it in my hands, tracing the letters but I still can’t work out the title. Levin encouraged me to use an app. I open it and scan the front of the book. The title and author fills the room, a robotic voice echoing from the walls. I turn the hardback over and repeat the action, the full blurb and reviews rebounding around the small room. It’s a laborious process, but by lunchtime, I have small piles of books ordered into alphabetised piles.
I write down the names of the stock, a page for each letter. But the notes soon become jumbled.
Google tells me where the nearest hardware shop is, and I listen to the directions; I’ve tried to read the usual map and I’m making progress, but I’m often distracted by the symbols still dancing on the screen.
Town is busy, the packed streets buzzing with the relief of a brief lunch break and Christmas shoppers. I dip into a café, use the app again to read the menu, the words read out loud through my ear pods. Nobody looks at me, or notices what I’m doing. I’m just a guy listening to music while picking out his lunch.
I pay and then eat my sandwich while I follow the direction from Google Maps until I locate the hardware shop and find the sandpaper.
The streets are still busy, despite the threat of rain in the dark, heavy clouds. There is a souvenir shop, postcards slotted into a white plastic frame that tilts to the right. I slow down, my hand reaching out. The card is split into quarters, little snapshots of this small bay. I trace the letter B and the opening bars of ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ pound in my chest. I’ve got to give it to Levin; it might be madness, but some of his methods are definitely working.
Once back in my shop, I pull out the sandpaper and plastic alphabet stencils that I’d brought with me. They’re the same as the ones I bought Jaz for her birthday. I turn the sandpaper over, draw inside the stencils then cut them out. Twenty-six symbols at my feet, which I carefully trace and place around the room. In the store cupboard, I take the stack of thrillers and begin placing them in piles next to the sandpaper letters.
It’s dark when I finish. My eyes are stinging, my fingers blistered, and my back is already starting to seize, but most of the stock is sorted into genre and alphabetised. I dig my hands into my coat pocket, checking for my keys, my finger catching on the edge of the rectangle of cardboard. Beside the new till is a pen and I reach for it, not letting myself think too much. I write Maggie’s name and address on the right side of the card.
I miss you.
Jack
x
I attach a stamp from the stationery drawer and pocket the card, and as I drop it into a postbox, and picture Maggie standing on her sofa, attaching it to the wall, the hole inside my chest begins to fill a little.
46
FRIDAY 10TH JANUARY
Maggie
‘He’s gorgeous, isn’t he?’ I ask Derek. We’re sitting side by side, his leg nudged against mine as we watchChariots of Fire. He frowns, and that resistance that his dementia has forced in place is lowering. Today is a good day. Sometimes, he’s so scared of letting his true feelings out that it’s like a steel wall is locking his true identity away, but today, it’s softer, more like lace than metal. ‘You’d make a good couple. He’d give you a run for your money though.’ I nudge him. He lets out a small scoff and I pass him the box of Turkish delight that he enjoys.
Christmas has been and gone in a flurry of chocolate orange, Baileys and some of my favourite movies watched with Tess:The Holiday,The Man Who Invented Christmas,It’s a Wonderful Lifeand Bill Murray’sScrooged.
Flicks doesn’t quite feel the same as it once did. I still work one shift… although I’ve switched days with Claire and helped her find a new babysitter, a kind girl, Ambika, who I bumped into at the corner shop and was looking for work. Friday night felt too raw. To be there without him. And the first time I tried to watchDirty Dancing, my eyes kept flitting behind me, checking the door, and let’s face it, that film deserves more of my respect.
I toasted the New Year with Riz, while we watchedWhen Harry Met Sallywith a bottle of cheap fizz and I tried not to think of how Jack and his family were seeing the New Year in.
I’ve finally set up my own website, and have a few clients on my books. Some of them through my flyers dotted around Flicks and local shops; others who have found me through word of mouth. It’s a small fledgling business but it’s mine and it’s starting to build a steady income. I’ve even started to save a bit each month so I can get a new car. Or maybe even a van if things keep going well.
Derek flashes a grin at me. ‘Oh I don’t know… I’ve always been quite athletic.’ He pops the sweet in his mouth, a dusting of white powder falling onto his jumper.
‘You old devil, I bet you are.’
Ravina pops her head around the corner. ‘What are you two sniggering about?’
‘Never you mind!’ Derek taps his nose, but I can see the fog is rolling in. He’s trying to work out why he’s watching a sports programme.
‘Shall I pop onGardener’s World?’ I move away from him, and select the prerecording that he seems to like. I stand and wipe my hands on my trousers.
‘Mags? Could I have a quick word?’ Ravina smiles and beckons me towards two chairs in the corridor.
‘Sure. Everything OK?’
